


It's Not Like Christmas At All

by chucknovak



Category: IT - Stephen King, Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Holidays, M/M, Post-Break Up, mike works for nasa bc i said so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-27 13:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17162513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucknovak/pseuds/chucknovak
Summary: It's Mike's first Christmas without Richie, and everything he does reminds him of his ex-boyfriend. Distance is a bitch.





	It's Not Like Christmas At All

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Christmas (Baby, Please Come Home)", which is hands down the best christmas song
> 
> merry christmas yall heres some angst lol

It had been the one of the worst Decembers of Mike’s life. He loved his new job, he really did, but it had him living in Florida, and the only place he sometimes travelled to was Texas. He’d once been sent to Nevada, which had been awesome, but it still didn’t change much temperature-wise. Mike felt so out of his element; December wasn’t supposed to be hot. Getting up every morning for work was so much worse when he had to put on light clothes. He grimaced whenever he left the house without a jacket, the image of snow-covered mountains on his calendar mocking him. He pouted as he tried to smooth his frizzy hair down all day, a struggle that was year-round in Florida. He missed New York, where the humidity only affected him for about a quarter of the year. He missed the trees and the lights and the snow and the hot chocolate. He even missed the carolers and the tourists.

Most of all he missed Richie.

It had been ten months since Mike landed his new job at NASA. It had been seven months since he and Richie had come to the painful realization that Richie living in New York City while sometimes travelling to Los Angeles and Mike living in Florida while sometimes travelling to Texas was not going to allow for their relationship to continue. This was Mike’s first Christmas without Richie in five years, and he just wanted to drink spiked egg nog with him while cuddling under a blanket and watching Christmas movies. The heat and humidity were salt in wounds that were still very open and felt very fresh.

Mike loved his job; it was his _dream_ job. He even went to the holiday party his local branch had thrown, and it was actually pretty fun - maybe not as flashy as the ones he’d attended with his famous comedian boyfriend, but impressive as far as company holiday parties go. But he still had to face the mistletoe, had to remember that there would be no lanky, charming dork to pull him underneath it so that he could press tipsy kisses all over Mike’s face in front of high profile people Mike was trying to impress. Mike smiled fondly at the memory of Richie calming him down, of working the nerves out of him with a little bit of rum and a whole lot of hand holding and kisses to his heated cheeks. A year later and Mike swore he could feel the ghost of that large hand placed on his lower back to gently guide him through the crowd. _You’re so cute when you’re star-struck._ He could hear the low, teasing voice in his ear, he could almost feel his breath cascading down his neck. Mike struggled to remember the smell of his cologne, something he desperately didn’t want to forget.

Mike had made plenty of work friends, some of whom recognized him as Richie Tozier’s boyfriend from the tabloids and all of whom did their best to set him up with eligible bachelors and bachelorettes at any opportunity. Mike was sure that news of whom he had broken up with to get this job had spread, and he also knew that he looked pretty miserable at times, despite the genuine love he felt for what he did. Because of this, he wasn’t surprised that his friends were trying to get him to move on. He even accepted one of the dates a couple of weeks before, but the entire night things fell flat. No one had Richie’s wit, no one painted bold strokes to bring out Mike’s own like Richie had.

His one solace was that he was leaving in the morning on a flight to Indiana, where he could see his mom and sisters, and where it would at least be cold. It had been years since Mike had spent Christmas day in Hawkins, as he and Richie had spent the morning together in their New York apartment before driving a couple of hours upstate to spend the afternoon of the holiday and the next day or two with his parents. They flew out to Hawkins after that, spending a few days with Mike’s family (and some of the Party, if they were lucky) before flying back to New York, _the only place to welcome the New Year_ , Richie would say every year.

Despite the Florida heat, Mike’s bed felt unbelievably cold as he fell asleep on the night of December 23rd.

He was grateful for the stress of a holiday airport, as he always had something to focus on, something to keep him alert and distracted from the longing and melancholy that threatened to consume him. He read on the flight, doing his best to not think about all the planes he had taken around this time the past few years. Unfortunately, he found it nearly impossible to forget how adorably excited Richie would get watching the animation of their plane flying over the country, the way he would insist on giving Mike the window seat just to lean over him and stare at the world below. He missed the weight of Richie’s head on his shoulder, even the harsh jab of his glasses. He missed sharing a set of headphones with Richie and trying to suppress his laughter at the ridiculous sight of Richie playing highly exaggerated air guitar and air drums - much to the dismay of the haughty, three-piece-suit-clad other first class passengers. Mike spent a lot of his current flight holding back tears.

His shoulders slumped in relief as he caught sight of Nancy and Jonathan waiting for him at his gate. He hugged them both, taking his time, allowing himself the comfort of familiar embraces, familiar smells. Still, though he was happy to see them, luggage claim wasn’t the same with them. He found himself making up stories in his head about the owners of each piece of luggage like he and Richie used to do, but that only made his eyes brim with tears. He clenched his jaw and held them back, but the way Nancy rested her head on his shoulder told him he wasn’t doing a great job of hiding his efforts.

The cold air that blasted him as they exited the overheated airport was very welcome to him, and he took a moment to close his eyes and just embrace it. “You guys have no idea how good you have it,” he told them, refusing to get in the car for a solid minute. He let the cold seep into his bones, let it nip at his nose, just as it should that time of year.

Nancy and Jonathan filled Mike in on what Holly’s new girlfriend was like on the drive home, both of their voices full of mirth and amusement and resounding approval. It made Mike smile; he was happy for his sisters, even if he was a bit jealous of their thriving love lives. Mike’s heart also lifted at the knowledge that the entire Party would be home for the holiday, that all six of them would be together for the first time in a while. Having that to look forward to helped ease the tightness in his chest. He watched Indiana pass him by through the car window, nodding absently along to the mixtape Jonathan had made, answering the questions he and Nancy asked him, ignoring the empty seat next to him as best he could until they were pulling into the driveway.

Holly popped up from the couch as soon as the door opened, hugging Mike before he had the chance to even set his bags down. Karen wasn’t far behind with a warm hug, gushing about all of the freckles Mike had, “And on the fourth day of winter! I’m glad you’re taking advantage of the sun, God knows we could use some of that up here.”

Mike chatted weather with his mother for a little while longer before she told him to go upstairs and unpack. Holly insisted on taking one of Mike’s bags up to his room and chatted his ear off the whole way about all of the homework she had been assigned over break. It made Mike smile, a genuine warmth in his chest as his little sister plopped herself down onto his bed, her long blonde hair spread around her head comically. Mike debated whether or not he should unpack and then decided he could live out of his suitcase for the week before settling on the floor with his back against his desk to listen to his sister ramble.

Usually the fact that he could never get a minute alone during visits home had Mike extremely on edge, but this year there was nothing he was more grateful for. His family kept his mind off of Richie as much as possible. Holly didn’t leave his room until Karen called them down for dinner. Jonathan had gone home to eat with Joyce, Hopper, El, and Will, as well as El’s partner, which left Mike alone with his mom and sisters. Over dinner they asked him about Florida and Texas, about the food and the weather and the wildlife. (“Wait, you’ve seen how many alligators?” - Holly’s incredulous question.) Mike asked Holly as much as he could about her life while avoiding the dreaded college search questions that would undoubtedly take up the majority of the conversation on Christmas Day when Karen’s sisters and parents came over. Karen spilled all of the town gossip she knew, to which Mike listened with an amused grin and a knowing look shared with Nancy. Nancy told what she could about her job, but her career as a detective didn’t much lend itself to dinner conversation (a rule enforced more by Karen than by the United States government, as she insisted it was too dark for the dinner table).

Mike did the dishes as usual - partly to spite his dad, who never even considered washing a dish in his life, but mostly because after so many years it still made his mom so happy she got teary-eyed. If Mike hadn’t already wanted to punch Ted before, the fact that his mother got emotional at the sight of a man in her life doing something small and considerate for her sure made him want to deck him. He was putting the last of the dishes away when he heard the basement door open and the unmistakable sound of Max shouting “Wheeler!” excitedly up the stairs.

Mike beamed and rushed down the stairs, finding Lucas and Max shivering and coatless in his basement. Mike shook his head fondly - they both insisted that the walk down the block didn’t warrant coats, yet they were always shaking by the time they got to Mike’s house, and they were cold to the touch as Mike wrapped his arms around each of them. “Wow, a year in Florida and you’re still as white as a sheet,” Max teased.

“Ten years in California and I could say the same about you,” he teased back with a smile. As he was hugging Lucas again, Will, Dustin, El, and her partner, Dylan, flooded in, swarming him in more hugs. It sort of took Mike’s breath away, the amount of genuine love he was receiving. He definitely got choked up, his voice barely working as he struggled to say his hellos and hold back tears at the same time. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d been around so many people he actually loved. He thought El might’ve noticed, as she gave him one of her looks and held him a bit tighter and longer than normal. He blushed at how obvious he must’ve been, but then his feelings were rarely a mystery to El. It was actually very comforting, as El never pushed - just gave him a small smile that said everything, in a way so genuine and caring it made Mike want to cry even more.

It was so nice to be back together with all of his friends. They spent a while discussing Will’s new art exhibit, and Mike was happy to answer all of the questions his friends had about his new job. He even laughed at the “Houston, we have a problem” jokes Dustin kept making. It was also nice to talk about his job with people he loved who could largely understand what he was saying.

But it was weird without Richie. Dustin’s girlfriend had to stay in Colorado and Will’s boyfriend in New York, so it wasn’t like Mike was the only one without a hand to hold, but he’d grown so used to having Richie’s arms around him as they lounged on the floor together. He’d grown used to Richie’s voice bouncing off the walls of his basement, followed by a chorus of both laughter and groans. The banter Richie had always shared with Max was noticeably absent, and even though it had been something Mike had playfully complained about any time it happened, it left the room feeling somehow empty, the air a bit off. He missed the way Richie would press sporadic kisses to his hair, despite the fact that Mike complained ceaselessly about Richie’s affinity for PDA. He missed his hands and his jokes and his voice and the smiles the party members gave him. He loved Max and Lucas to death, and they were adorable, but he could barely look at them as the spiked egg nog brought them closer and closer to each other throughout the night. There were a few moments where they were cuddling and whispering and giggling together that Mike genuinely felt a bit nauseous. He blamed it on the egg nog. However, when he noticed the ring on El’s finger - which definitely hadn’t been there last year, or even in her last Instagram post - he knew it wasn’t just the alcohol or the dairy. He met El’s eye as he looked up and forced himself to smile when he saw that she was blushing and grinning at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, prompting her and Dylan to announce their engagement to the room. There were many cheers and shots of congratulations afterwards, Mike not excluded. He was ecstatic for them - they were great together. But with the alcohol running through his veins it was just a little too much to see the way Dylan looked at El, to see the look she returned to them. Once he’d hugged them both and offered his sincere congratulations, he snuck away to the kitchen, grateful to find that Karen, Nancy, and Holly had all gone upstairs.

He leaned on the sink and took a deep breath. His head swam a bit; he hadn’t realized how much he’d had to drink, and that last shot had him drunker than he had intended to get. He was so focused on steadying his breathing that he barely heard El come up behind him. “Hey,” she said softly with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Still, Mike jumped as he turned around.

“Hey,” he smiled back shakily. He took her hand in his and marveled at the ring on it. “This is beautiful, El. Dylan is super lucky.”

“I’m lucky too,” she smiled. But then her face got serious again, and she gripped Mike’s hand while caressing his face with the other. Mike’s bottom lip quivered at the contact; it had been so _long_ since someone had touched him so tenderly. (The fact that it was his first love who now had a fiancé shook him even more, and the alcohol certainly wasn’t helping.) “How have you been?” The concern and openness in her voice nearly made him crumbled. He held her hand to his face and watched hers grow blurry.

“It’s hard,” he admitted in a shaky whisper. “I miss him.” At the first sign of a tear on his cheek El wrapped him in a tight embrace, allowing him to bury his face in his hair as he caught his breath. She didn’t say anything, and for that Mike was grateful - they both knew she didn’t have to say much. She said all she needed to by holding him: _I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I’m right here. You’ll always have us_. Maybe she was thinking other things, like maybe that he and Richie could work it out in the future, but if she was thinking them she thankfully didn’t voice them. She just held him until he pulled back and wiped the tears from his face. “I really am happy for you,” he told her. “You so deserve this.”

“I love you,” she smiled, running a hand through his hair once before holding both of his hands in her own.

“I love you, too,” he grinned. And even though the words were everything he needed to hear, and even though they were coming from one of his favorite people in the world, he still wished he could hear _him_ saying it, wished that he was sitting down stairs with a drunk Richie wrapped around him whispering endless _I love yous_ into his ear throughout the night. “I think I’m ready to go back down now,” he told her, letting her lead him downstairs. The thoughts didn’t subside, but they were easier to ignore when there were so many things going on in his friends’ lives for him to catch up on.

Everyone filed out around one-thirty, leaving Mike to turn out all of the lights and head up to his room alone. Normally he’d be leading a drunk Richie behind him, shushing him through poorly suppressed giggles. He’d have Richie’s mouth on his neck and his hands on his waist. Maybe before that they would’ve sprayed some whipped cream into each other’s mouths, trying and failing to stay quiet as they laughed at the innuendo. Then Richie would purposely get some on the corner of his mouth just so he could beg Mike to kiss it off. Mike remembered Richie deepening the kiss after that, every time, lifting him onto the counter and sliding his hands up his shirt until Mike stopped him, breathless, not wanting his mom or sisters to come down and find them. But that wasn’t happening tonight, maybe not ever again; it was like he was a ghost, though Mike knew rationally that he was only a phone call away, if he really needed him. Mike gripped the railing a little bit harder than necessary as he climbed up the stairs, willing himself not to cry now that he was alone with his thoughts. He made his way to his room quietly, hoping not to wake anybody as he closed the door. He walked over to his window, staring out of it onto his backyard. He smiled to himself; it was snowing.

He was about to change into his pajamas when he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, figuring Dustin must have left something behind. He froze when he saw the caller ID. Apparently he never got around to changing his contact picture, as an image of Richie pressing a kiss to Mike’s cheek was filling his screen. He answered, bringing the phone to his ear, his blood cold. “Hello?” he nearly whispered, afraid his voice might not even work.

There was a beat of silence. Then, for the first time in months, Richie’s voice. “Hey,” he said, almost surprised, as if Mike had called him. “I didn’t think you were gonna pick up.” Mike’s heart dropped.

“I’ll always pick up when you call.” He figured he could blame that on the alcohol in the morning, but he knew the rum really had nothing to do with the lump in his throat and the fact that his heart was racing a mile a minute.

“ _Mike_ ,” Richie breathed, his voice desperate and strained. Mike bit his lip and closed his eyes; he’d missed Richie saying his name. “Fuck.”

“So what’s up?” Mike asked, his own voice cracking. “Why… why’d you call?”

“I miss you.” Mike gripped the windowsill.

“Are you drunk?”

“Tipsy.”

“Me too.” There was silence from the other end of the line for a moment. Richie started to say something, just like he always did, but Mike cut him off. “I miss you too.”

“You do?” Richie’s voice was so soft and so vulnerable. The snow became blurry before him.

“I miss you so much,” he said, letting out a soft sob. “Every day.”

“Baby,” Richie said, his voice like a blanket around Mike’s shoulders; he wanted to crawl into it, wanted to tuck his head under Richie’s chin and listen to his heartbeat, the way he always did when he was upset. The tone of Richie’s voice made Mike wish they had ended badly. He wished - so many times - that there had been a fight, that all of his fond memories of Richie could be countered with bad ones. But any bad memories were inconsequential, unconjurable. Mike could only remember the good, because they hadn’t ended badly. They never really fought about anything serious. They never went to bed angry. And the end had only been so painful because they were both still so in love with each other. “I wish I was there with you, too. I wish I could be there for you.” Mike sobbed quietly, unable to express how badly he needed that, how badly he needed Richie to hold him. He should be holding Mike right now, tucked safely under the covers of Mike’s childhood bed, singing soft Christmas songs in Mike’s ear, first funny pop ones and then soft, sentimental ones until Mike fell asleep. But he was thousands of miles away. “I’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have called-”

“No,” Mike insisted, mindless of his volume for a minute. Bringing it back down, he said, “I’m glad you did. God, I fucking miss you so much. I wanna see you so bad. Everything is, is _wrong_ without you.”

“Baby-”

“I wanna go back to New York,” Mike kept on, the tears freely flowing, his sniffles and hiccups interrupting his speech. “I wanna wake up next to you tomorrow morning. I wanna suffer through airport lines and airplane food with you. I wanna drink coffee with you and see whose presents are more tragically wrapped.” Richie gave a small, pained chuckle at that. “I miss all of it. I miss you.”

“Mike.” Richie didn’t cry often, but he sounded close to it. “I love you.” Mike didn’t realize he’d fallen to his knees until he was looking at the heater instead of the snow. The sound of that voice saying those words had him trembling.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

“Mike Wheeler, I love you so much,” Richie said, his voice swelled with something Mike couldn’t quite place. “I have not stopped loving you, not for a single day.”

“I never stopped loving you,” Mike said, his voice cracking again. “I love you so much, Richie. It’s so nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours, too.” Mike could hear the small grin in his voice. “I needed to hear your voice. Kind of a… masochistic Christmas present to myself.”

“It doesn’t have to hurt,” Mike said. Richie stayed silent. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“Mike,” Richie started again, his voice tired and hurting.

“I could quit.”

“Mike.” His voice was much firmer now - still gentle, but Mike knew not to argue. “Why don’t you get some sleep, angel? If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow we can talk again. I’d love to hear your voice again. But right now I think you’re a little drunk and very tired, and I think you need to sleep.”

“Sleeping is so much harder without you.”

“ _Fuck_ , I know,” Richie agreed with a heavy sigh. “I miss holding you so bad. But we still have to sleep, okay? I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” Mike nodded, even though Richie couldn’t see him. He didn’t know how he managed it, but Richie was one of few people who could tell Mike what to do and get results instead of punched.

“Okay,” he relented. “Do you promise to call me tomorrow?”

“If that’s still what you want.”

“Okay.”

“Merry Christmas, Wheelbarrow.” Mike smiled fondly at the old nickname.

“Merry Christmas, Richie.” And with that the line went dead.

He sat for a minute before getting up. He changed into pajamas and got into bed, wiping the salty tracks from his cheeks as best he could. In the time it took him to get into bed, Nancy had texted him twice.

 _Everything okay?_ 1:41 am.

 _Do you wanna talk about it?_ 1:42 am.

 _Maybe tomorrow,_ he sent back.

He settled into bed, emotionally drained but looking forward to talking to Richie again. He was extremely shaken, but it had also been really, really nice to hear Richie’s voice. He convinced himself that something might come of this talk. Deep down he knew it was unlikely that anything would change, but his tipsy and emotionally overwhelmed mind lulled him to sleep with overly optimistic assurances and fantasies. It was Christmas, after all, and he fell asleep exhausted but still high on the sound of Richie’s voice.


End file.
